New Career - 1930Chapter 1

Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1 - John Wilson is shifted to an alternate dimension only slightly different from Depression America of 1930. His job is to protect a very rich young woman from being kidnapped and assassinated before she can bear a daughter. If he fails, the whole universe of time travel will cease to exist, and he will be returned to his original time as if none of his adventures had ever happened.

Author's note: [ and ] delineate mind-to-mind dialog.

God ... Damn ... It! Where am I this time? Ever since I put on that damned ring, I keep getting bounced from adventure to adventure. After eight years in the military, most of it as a SEAL, and a promising career as an accountant when I got out, I have bounced through time from one era to another, not knowing what will happen to me next.

It all started out when I got that funny looking envelope in the mail one day addressed to Johnathon Wilson. What was peculiar was that everyone knows me as John. Inside was nothing but a short note and a very simple ring, a white gold band that looked a lot like a man's wedding ring. The note said, "Slip this ring on the little finger of your left hand and enjoy an adventure like you have never before experienced." That was all.

Hell, I don't know why I didn't just pitch the whole thing in the trash and go on about my life. Well, yes, I do know why—I was bored to death. I had been at the accounting business for several years and had gotten my CPA. I was making a fair living in a small town, but life had settled into a deep rut. I was not married and had no immediate prospects. I didn't even have a steady girlfriend. Here I was in my mid-thirties and had hit a dead end.

I had no idea what I was getting into when I slipped the ring on my finger. It was way too big for my finger when it went on, but, unaccountably, it immediately shrank to be a proper fit. The problem, now, was that there was no way for me to get it off.

A few moments after the ring settled into place on my finger, the whole world seemed to disappear in a cloud of smoke and a flash of bright light. The next thing I knew, I was stark naked and standing in a line of people, also naked, up on a platform. Other people in a crowd below me were bidding for my services as a slave. I was bought by a man to be trained as a gladiator. I went through that for a while, and, from there, I went through several other adventures of an equally exciting and dangerous sort until this last transfer.

Well, this time was a little different. I found myself seated in a small diner beside a two-lane highway. A full cup of hot coffee was on the table beside me, and that was a welcome change. I sipped the coffee and was further surprised at how good it tasted. I looked around and spotted a calendar on the wall opened to May of 1930. Five of the dates were crossed off, so I figured I was in the early stages of Depression America. Another glance out the window showed me a great expanse of mostly nothing, so I had to be somewhere on the Great Plains of what I would call the Midwest.

That's when I heard the voice of my mentor in my head. [Ah, yes, John, I am glad to see that you are alert. Possibly the coffee had something to do with that. This is a special case for you, and not one of your general adventures. A situation is developing that needs attention on the spot that you are supremely suited for.

[The case involves a potential major change in the time stream of an alternate reality, and it will be up to you to prevent that. A kidnapping will take place in a short while that could cause the demise of a very important ancestor of my current time. The second person is a scientist that makes a discovery that enables the kind of time travel that you are familiar with. We MUST maintain that person's existence.

[The first person of interest is a woman who is the daughter of an industrial baron who has managed to keep his fortune and is doing everything that he can to break the grip of the financial depression that is gripping the world. Yes, he is a major supporter of Franklin Roosevelt, and one of his most important advisers. Your job is to prevent the kidnapping of the woman. This kidnapping is not a part of your familiar time stream, and we do not know very much about it. All we really know for sure is that the kidnapping could cause the death of the woman who is a great-great-grandmother of the scientist in question.

[One of the things we do know is that the person intimately involved with the girl is a man about her age who rides a motorcycle. They get to know each other, we assume, because the girl is a "motorcycle nut" by her own admission. She owns and rides her motorcycle at every opportunity. We want you to be that man, John.

[At present, the woman, Arlene Worthy, is living at a vacation retreat about 10 miles from where you presently sit, and she will be headed in your direction in about 15 minutes. You have some papers in your wallet which identify you as Johnathon Wilson, a special agent of the secret service. They will support your claim if that should become necessary. Your job is to roam about as necessary to look for counterfeit money. That is why you normally wear the clothes of a common working man and drive a motorcycle, as it is much less expensive than an automobile.

[Your motorcycle is special in that it is equipped with two Army BARs (Browning Automatic Rifles) in fixed positions on each side of the fuel tanks. These weapons are hidden behind a special fairing that appears to be there to add streamlining to your motorcycle. There is a special locker affixed over the rear wheel, disguised the same way, which holds a Thompson sub-machine gun (SMG). Affixed to the handle bar is a special bracket which holds the SMG in such a way that it can be fired by your right hand. The bracket allows the SMG to be pivoted horizontally 140° and vertically from -10° to +90°. You will probably keep the SMG in its locked box that only you can open by pressing your thumb against the release button.

[For your personal weapon, we have outfitted you with a .45 caliber automatic Colt pistol (ACP) of the Army 1911A design. It is carried in a shoulder holster under your left arm. Obviously, you have already noticed it. Extra ammunition for all of the weapons is stored in the locked box behind your motorcycle saddle. As usual, you already know how to use all of these weapons and are an expert with them all. Also, you are a champion-quality motorcycle rider.

[Sometime in the next few minutes, I suggest that you pay for your coffee, 3¢, and don't forget the 1¢ tip. Get up and go outside to sit on your motorcycle waiting for the woman to come by. Follow her and somehow get to know her. The rest is up to you. That is all for now.]

I followed instructions and turned my bike so that it faced the road. In less than 10 minutes, a foreign motorcycle in a brand I did not recognize blasted past me. A woman was driving, and she was letting her hair stream loose behind her. Naturally, in this era, nobody wore a safety helmet or even would recognize one if they saw it.

I kicked over my starter and tore through the parking lot to chase the woman. I left quite a plume of dust from the unpaved parking lot as I accelerated onto the highway. Luckily, there were no cars coming from from either direction. Man, she must have been doing over 80 MPH (Miles per Hour). My machine could do 120 MPH, so I had no doubt that I would catch her very quickly.

The ground was mostly gently rolling hills that did not rise very high, so I could see her in the distance. I was pouring on the gas and began to close the distance between us, but suddenly, she seemed to be going faster. Did she speed up to keep me from catching her? Well, I would find out in a few minutes.

It took longer than I would have bet on, but I finally pulled up beside her and glanced at her speedometer—it said 170, so that must be Kilometers per Hour (KPH) or about 105 MPH. I throttled back to stay even with her, and she looked at me and grinned. She pointed to a side road up ahead, and I nodded.

We pulled off there, and she said, "Why haven't I seen you around her before? Oh, my name is Arlene."

I said, "Hello, Arlene, my name is John. I'm new to the territory. That's an interesting motorcycle, what is it?"

"Its a Brough SS100 from England. It's supposed to be damned fast. How did you catch me?"

I grinned as I answered. "You are the most recent victim of the Wilson Racer. I call it that because it can go up to 160 MPH under the right conditions. Actually, it's a reworked Harley-Davidson with so many changes done by my friends and me that the only thing left is the frame and the wheels from the original machine. We started out reworking it as long as five years ago with the idea of winning a few races with it and starting our own company, but this damned Depression caught up to us. We ran out of money about two months ago, but I still had a few bucks left, so I bought out my friends. I might go into production if the economy ever straightens out."

"Wow, that sounds great for the machine results and damned bad for everything else. So, what are you doing now?"

"Mostly, I travel around the country entering races for the few dollars that I can pick up with the winnings and side bets. I manage to get by, but I sure ain't getting rich! How about you? With a machine like that, you aren't missing many meals."

"My dad did well in manufacturing and has managed to hang on to his money. I'm living at the country place about 20 miles over that way. Come on by for a drink, unless, of course, you are some sort of government agent." Fortunately, she laughed at her remark, and I agreed to follow her home.

We pulled into a country place that was more like a palace for Sleeping Beauty or somebody else from fairyland. To call the mansion sumptuous was an insult. I have never seen a more lavishly decorated home, but every bit of what I saw was in good taste and not garish. Yep, it was obvious that this woman's family had money to burn. Furthermore, the more of her and her surroundings that I saw just emphasized how ripe she was for a kidnapping. It looked to me like her father could hand out a million dollars in ransom and not notice the change in his bank account.

We went into a room near the living room and there was a bar complete with a resident bartender. Now that was conspicuous consumption! He dropped the newspaper that he was reading and jumped to attention the moment we walked in. He looked like he relished the chance to do something beside relax.

Arlene ordered a vodka martini, and I ordered scotch on the rocks. Our drinks were produced with dispatch, and she led me onto a balcony where we could relax and enjoy the drinks and conversation. I couldn't help wondering if she was sizing me up for a visit to her bedroom, but I made a point of not leaning on that possibility.

We sat in the shade and sipped our drinks while talking about nothing much, but spending a lot of time doing it. It was obvious that she was measuring me for something, but I could not tell what it was. All I could do was let the words flow and see where they led.

She did react when I removed my leather jacket and she saw my .45. Her eyes got big at that, and I had to say something. "I see that you saw the obvious. I carry the gun because I have been held up twice, but I only lost my money the first time. In the second case, I couldn't afford to pay for the funeral, so I just left the body at the side of the road. I don't know how many unlucky people he had previously stopped, but he had a little over $100 in his pocket. That carried me nicely for a month."

"I guess that means, then, that you know how to use that weapon and are well versed in the mechanics of the job."

"Yes, I guess that you can say that. My father was an expert with all kinds of firearms, and he taught me all that I could learn."

"How about a demonstration? We have a shooting range behind the house that we use for tuning up shotguns. Would you show me what you can do with that ACP?"

Well, Arlene just proved that she knew something about guns, though I didn't know how much. She continued with, "I could get my 9 mm Luger and we could have a little contest. Are you interested?"

"Absolutely! I have never yet turned down a challenge at any sort of shooting. I don't always win, but I also never embarrass myself."

We took our glasses back to the bar and I waited there while she went to fetch her pistol. The bartender said, "My name is Jack. You will need to know that if you hang around here for very long."

"Hello, Jack. My name is John. Honestly, I don't know how long I will be welcome because I plan to whip Arlene's ass at the range." We both laughed at that just as Arlene returned.

"Come on, John. Let's see if you can shoot better than li'l ole me." She led me out to a shooting range that fit with the rest of the house. That is, it was as modern for 1930 as a shooter could hope to find. There was even ear protection, and I was glad of that because the ACP has a real bark to it.

We took a minute getting set up before Arlene mounted a silhouette target on the frame and sent it 50 feet away. "I'll shoot first to give you some idea of what you have to beat." With that, she fired a full magazine of 9 mm bullets at the target. When she rolled it back, there was a neat hole about 4 inches in diameter where the heart would be. Dammit, that woman was right—she could shoot!

I had to try to beat that, and this was my first time at shooting an ACP in a very long time. However, I trusted the muscle memory that had been implanted in me and confidently drew my pistol. I didn't try to do anything fancy, I just shot at a fresh target. I fired the moment the pistol had cycled and I had reacquired the proper aiming point.

I emptied the 7-shot magazine at the target and took the time to reload before I did anything else. Arlene nodded in approval as I did that. She pushed the button to retrieve the target and laid her target over mine. We both had hit very close to the position of the heart, but the hole left by my bullets was smaller than hers. She gasped when she saw that and stuck out her hand. "It is a supreme pleasure to meet a man who actually can shoot better than me! May I try your ACP?"

Well, I really had no choice and handed her my pistol. I ran out a new target and she set herself to begin shooting. Her grouping with the unfamiliar ACP was almost as good as what she had done with her Luger, and I was impressed. She handed the pistol back to me, and I reloaded while she retrieved the target and laid it over my target. Naturally, she did not have my advantage with the honed muscle memory, so her grouping was larger than mine; however, it was not much larger than the pattern from her Luger.

I congratulated her on her accuracy, and she smiled prettily at me. It was obvious how pleased she was with herself. Hell, it was a damned good example of pistol shooting and would have made any instructor happy. I said, "Maybe you should switch to the ACP if there is any chance that you might need to protect yourself. After all, it does have much better stopping-power than the 9 mm."

"I think that you are right. I'll go into town tomorrow and buy one."

"Was that the first time that you had fired the ACP? If so, you did an impressive job."

"No, I have fired one before, but that was my first time back then. I think that I could do better with some practice."

"I think so, too. Do you have an instructor?"

"No, I don't. Would you be interested in the job? I assure you that it would pay well, and there are fringe benefits."

Now, I had been propositioned before, but never so blatantly. Whatever you might say about Arlene Worthy, she was not the coy type. Well, I could not afford to turn down this offer. It fit exactly into my assignment from my mentor, so I jumped at the opportunity. Of course, I was careful about the way I did it.

"If you become my employer, does that mean that I have to start calling you Miss Worthy, instead of Arlene? I would be crushed if it worked out that way."

"No, I think that we could make an exception in this case, though I don't know what Daddy will say. Oh, foo on him! Yes, I will insist that you call me Arlene, especially during those fringe times."

"Does your daddy know about those fringe benefits that you keep offering me? I sure would hate to get on his bad side."

"Actually, I plan to tell him about them. Since my mother died 15 years ago, Daddy has been my confidant and knows just about everything about me that there is to know. He won't mind as long as you mind your manners if and when we have company."

"Okay, I can live with that. I will be the soul of discretion. By the way, where is Daddy now?"

"He's in New York state telling Franklin Roosevelt how to run the country. At least that part having to do with restoring the economy. However, he will be back in a few days, so you two can meet then.

"I don't know about you, but I feel awful sweaty. Let's take a shower and get squeaky clean where it counts."

"Okay, but the only clothes I have are in the saddlebags of my motorcycle. I'll have to stop by there to pick up what I need. I hope you can stand to keep seeing me in this kind of clothes, because I don't have any others."

"Don't worry about that. Sure, you can wear your other clothes during supper, but I don't expect that you will need much in the way of clothes for tonight. Tomorrow, when we go into town, we can get you whatever you think that you need."

I went by my motorcycle to pick up my stuff, including my razor and toothbrush. I followed Arlene into the house and up the stairs toward the bedrooms. When we got there, she said, "This is my bedroom. Come on, unless you are going to chicken out on me."

"My dear, I never chicken out when invited into a beautiful woman's bedroom. But I need a shower, so I need you to point me to my bedroom."

"Oh, didn't I make myself clear? This is your bedroom, too. Come on, the last one into the shower is a rotten egg."

"You have to strip first. Clothes are not allowed in our bathroom." She had started removing her clothes as she talked, so I tossed my stuff onto a chair and started to pull my stuff off. Both of us had the problem of getting our motorcycle boots off, so I pulled hers off and she pulled mine off. She didn't stop there, but continued to remove my clothes. Finally, all I had on were my jockey shorts. Arlene seemed to take considerable pleasure in pulling those off me.

She gasped when she saw my cock, which had already started to enlarge at the prospect of seeing Arlene without her covering. "My God, John, I didn't know that you were so well endowed. It is going to be a BIG pleasure getting to know you." I grinned at that statement and started helping Arlene to take off her clothes.

She had already removed her shirt, so I was able to see the swell of her tits under her bra. She was large enough to hold my attention long enough to make her a little impatient. I woke up before she said anything, but I could tell that I was close on that one.

I loosened her pants and pulled them down, but her panties were still there along with her bra and boot socks. I kneeled and pulled off her socks and stayed on my knees while I pulled her panties down for her to step out of them. I was delighted to see that she had trimmed her bush, and I got a glimpse of her pussy lips. They were swollen and turning purple, so I knew that I had to get my ass in gear. Arlene's bra was the last thing to come off, and I was presented with the sight of two magnificent mounds of pulchritude.

Arlene gave what sounded to me like a sigh of relief and grabbed me by my now fully erect cock. She used that as a leash to lead me to the shower which was indeed large enough to serve at least two people. In fact, it was so large that I wondered if she used it for threesomes on occasion. Oh, well, that was not a question for tonight.

It took only a short time to get the water temperature adjusted, and she used the same leash to pull me into the shower. I was interested to see that there was a separate tub, so that was out of the way. There was a sink in the bathroom, but the toilet and bidet were in a little room of their own. My God, how hoity-toity, in the sense of riotous behavior, could we get?

I now had the pleasure of rubbing soap all over that glorious body that I had been interested in for most of the day. Of course, those tits demanded close and detailed attention, and that was given. Furthermore, Arlene's pussy was not neglected. I thoroughly washed her pussy and pushed my finger into her hole when I determined that she was already leaking fluid. I had no trouble finding her G-spot, and I devoted two fingers to that.

Arlene had been washing me as thoroughly as I had attended her, but she froze when I started playing with her G-spot. She had already spread her legs enough for me to get my fingers in as far as necessary. I kept at it until she came, and her reaction surprised me: she kind of oozed to the bottom of the shower. She did not fall, but slid down the wall she had been leaning against, sort of like the proverbial molasses in January.

Once there, she just sat very still for a moment and looked at me with an expression that I could not interpret. I got the impression of the Cheshire cat in "Alice in Wonderland", but I could not figure out what that might mean. Oh, well, the pause did not last long.

As soon as Arlene had recovered enough, she latched onto my cock and pulled me far enough so that she could reach me with her mouth. From that point on, I got what I would call an Olympic quality blowjob, and I don't mean the amateur games. It was as if Aphrodite herself was making love to my cock! I have had many blowjobs in my several lives, but I would stack that one up to the best of them all. Arlene did not deep throat me, but she put enough loving attention into what she did that I did not miss the feeling. I don't know how much jizz I shot into her mouth, but she swallowed it all; she didn't spill a drop. Now that's what I call dedication to the job!

When she finished, I had to lean against the wall for a couple of minutes to keep from joining Arlene on the floor. Fortunately, that did not last too long, and I was able to pull Arlene to a standing position. We rinsed off again, why I don't know, before she turned off the water and we dried each other off. On the way to the bed, she said, "John, I don't know where you learned that technique with your fingers, but I'll fight to keep you around as long as you don't forget it. It wasn't the strongest orgasm that I ever had, but it was certainly one of the best. If you can fuck with your cock as well as you can with your fingers, then I am your sex slave for life. Please just keep being that good."

Hell, what could I say? I just said nothing as we leaned on each other for support as we made our way to the bed. Arlene proved that she was as smart as she was sexy and beautiful by bringing a towel with her to keep from leaving a wet spot on the bed. I was kind of amused as I helped her spread the towel before she lay down on it; I had no idea that her climax had taken so much out of her.

We lay on the bed and cuddled for a while—neither of us had the strength to do any more. However, after about 30 minutes of rest, my cock began to stir, and Arlene detected the movement almost before I did. "John, I don't need any more foreplay. All I can think of is how much I want that magnificent looking cock inside me. Please tell me that you are ready or else let me try to get you ready."

"Mentally and emotionally I am ready, Arlene, but you tell me if I am rigid enough to pass muster. Honestly, I can't tell yet."

Arlene grasped my cock and gave it a shake. "As far as I can tell, you are ready. Let's give it a try. If it can't make its way inside me, we'll just have to give it a little more time, but I can hardly wait."

With that statement, Arlene plopped herself on her back on the towel and drew her knees up before spreading them. I moved between her legs, and she spread her pussy lips while I pointed my cock at her pussy. She held her lips open with the fingers of her left hand while she positioned me in her slit. She was in the process of pouring out so much fluid that my cock head was coated by the time she got me properly positioned.

I pushed in gently until I felt a dry spot catch my cock. That was easily solved by backing out just a little bit and sliding back in. That happened two times before I was seated all the way into her pussy as far as I could get. I pressed on her clit with my pubic bone, and Arlene moaned with delight. "John, you are so damned big around that it feels like you are about to split me open. It feels so good that I want you to stay where you are forever, but I know that it will feel even better once you start to move. Please start moving!"

I grinned and started to stroke. My cock filled her so thoroughly that I didn't have to do anything special to keep pressure on her G-spot. I could feel those knobs and ridges as I stroked, and I wondered it if felt as good to Arlene as it did to me. As we used to say as children about other things, I wondered if I had died and gone to heaven. Arlene's moans sounded as if she felt the same way.

I was giving Arlene the longest strokes that I could consistently manage, and that must have been what she needed because I could feel her rising to a climax by the way her vaginal muscles began to clamp rhythmically on my cock. Her moans began to change into pants as her climax got closer and closer. Finally, she broke over the precipice, and tumbled into her first orgasm from our fucking.

I was not ready yet, so I just slowed down enough not to interfere with her pleasure, but I returned to my former stroking when she seemed to return to

Earth. "John, haven't you come yet?"

"No, I haven't, but I should get there pretty soon. Just let me keep stroking and I should hit my own come before long." Actually, what I was driving for was a simultaneous come for both of us. I knew that I would come if Arlene did again, and I hoped that she would feel the same way if I came first. Either way, it was a win-win situation if I did not have to stop.

I kept stroking, and I felt her rhythmic contractions start. That pushed me where I wanted to go, and we did manage to come together. This time, Arlene screamed her pleasure, and I was sure that she could be heard all over the house. I didn't care, and I was sure that Arlene didn't. Anybody in the house who had been paying attention would have recognized the scream as one of pleasure, so they must know that I was not hurting Arlene. Anyway, nobody came bursting through the door, so I guess that they all figured it out.

We collapsed on the bed and kind of napped for about half an hour. That was when Arlene sort of woke up and said, "Come on, John, it's time for supper. Alice, the cook, will be pissed off at us if we make supper late." We dashed as fast as anybody can dash after that much good sex into the shower to wash off the worst of the smell of sex. We got dressed in a hurry, and I was able to do so because I put on my socks, but skipped my boots. Arlene skipped her bra and panties and wore some house shoes, so she was actually ready before me. We went down the stairs hand in hand, and I couldn't help thinking of the scenes on the Yellow Brick Road with all of the singing and dancing.

Well, we were in our places soon enough that Alice let us get away with it. It was an excellent supper, or light dinner, actually, and I was stuffed by the time I quit eating. I made a point of dropping by the kitchen and telling Alice how much I enjoyed the meal. I figured that I didn't want to get such an outstanding cook mad at me.

The weather looked a little bit threatening, so I found some shoes that I could get my feet into and put the two motorcycles in a garage that was as big as a good-sized barn. Even with two motorcycles and four cars in there, there was room for a volleyball court. My God, the Worthys didn't do things by halves.

I went back inside and found Arlene at the bar sipping another of her vodka martinis. There was a scotch on the rocks at the place beside her waiting for me. Neither one of us smoked, and that was one bad habit I was happy to see gone by the wayside.

There was a empty space at one end of the room large enough for a small dance floor, and Jack, the bartender, was kind enough to man the record player to play some swing for Arlene and me to dance to. I was never much of a fan of dancing, but Arlene was well on her way toward changing my mind on that subject.

We danced until about 10:00 o'clock, but that was enough for me. I only had to hint once to get Arlene to agree with me that it was bedtime. We went upstairs. Man, I would not have much trouble getting used to the ways of the idle rich if I always had Arlene for a companion.

We stripped and got into bed. Arlene had a towel handy in case we needed one, but both of us were still feeling the effects of our sexercise this afternoon, so we just cuddled for a while before dropping off to sleep. I must have slept for about three hours when I woke up with a start. Shit! And double Shit! I had fucked Arlene with no protection. I sure as hell did not want to knock her up, and I was surprised that she had not said something. Maybe she had a diaphragm that I had not seen her insert. Dammit, I hoped so. I was going to have to ask her about it tomorrow morning. It seemed to me that I would really screw up this mission if I made Arlene pregnant.

The next morning, I woke to the feeling of a blowjob in progress. Naturally, I was already hard, and Arlene mounted me before I was really awake enough to say anything to her about it. Well, we both came before we stopped, and Arlene had an excellent technique for this, just as she had for the blowjob. Man, this girl was well educated!

We headed to the shower to wash off before breakfast, and I put on the same clothes that I had worn last evening for supper. Just before we went down to breakfast, I asked Arlene about the problem of no protection for sex. "Oh, John, you are so gallant. Don't worry about it; I have some pills that I take every day that keeps me from getting pregnant."

That shook me because I knew that the birth control pills that I knew about were only invented after World War II. I asked where the pills came from, and Arlene said, "When I was younger, I had a Chinese nanny who told me how to make them. It's not complicated, but it's not commonly known outside of China. I'll show you how I do it the next time I have to make some. The pills haven't failed me yet, so just don't worry about it."

Okay, if she wasn't worried, I would relax, but I was curious about these pills. We ate breakfast and put on our outfits for riding our motorcycles. Arlene never went anywhere by car if she could ride her bike instead. She insisted that I could find any sort of clothes that I might want in town, and I should leave everything to her. Well, I figured that I could manage that, so I took my first step in becoming a "kept man."